


Cute (Like a Little Bird)

by KingPreussen



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cohabitation, Human & Country Names Used, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 18:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13980726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingPreussen/pseuds/KingPreussen
Summary: “Mornin’,” Prussia said brightly, looking up briefly from the handheld console that he started to play while he waited for his coffee to finish. The same console fell out of his hands and clattered to the kitchen table when he looked back at his boyfriend; Prussia could hardly care less that his character died at his inattention.---Romano is no mere substitute.





	Cute (Like a Little Bird)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BewareTheLorelei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BewareTheLorelei/gifts).



> i havent written anything for hetalia in literal years. i started this story in 2015 (the title is just what i had as a placeholder but i cant think of a new one) and i decided to wrap up and post it for BewareTheLorelei who has been leaving me very sweet reviews! in this fic maybe romano is a bit one-dimensional but its only because hes sleepy
> 
> ive also been buying way more hetalia merch because of nostalgia, and thinking up new prumano ideas. expect at least a few more fics about these two weirdos
> 
> (im selling hetalia merch too. check the [hetalia-sell lj](https://hetalia-sell.livejournal.com) and look for kingpreussen)
> 
> thanks for reading!

Most nations looked sort of askance at Romano and Prussia's relationship. At first glance, it didn't really seem like the two of them had anything in common. And if asked, presuming they didn't literally shoot down the asker for being so nosy into their relationship business, they would probably say the thing they had _most_ in common was a complete intolerance for being woken up. 

It would seem like a small thing from the outside, maybe. But Italy was the land of warm sun and long siestas, and Prussia was just generally lazy, so it turned out to be a good fit. Prussia in particular was raised waking at the crack of dawn with whatever small amount of sleep he could manage to grab. That certainly helped him back in his days of warmongering and conquering, but in the 21st century, being alert when the sun came up was more a curse than a blessing.

Fortunately, since he had started to share his bed permanently with the most easily aggravated man in the world, he could get himself at least relaxed enough to stay quiet and watch Romano sleep for an hour or so before the urge to get up and _do_ things made him antsy. Being woken up before the sun made him irritable and angry and, worst of all, unable to get back to sleep.  
   
Romano was a different matter. If he didn’t have to be at work, it was entirely unacceptable for his eyes to be open any time before ten in the morning. Not his brother whining at him, not Prussia hoping for a slow and sleepy morning fuck, not the fucking apocalypse complete with fire and brimstone. He was liable to bite and scratch if one were to try and wake him too early.  
   
So Prussia’s phone ringing at three am was an absolute no-no. The former nation jerked awake and grabbed the phone from his bedside table, ending the call. Then, breathing shallowly, he turned to check if Romano was still sleeping. The Italian just quietly protested the loss of Prussia’s warmth and sighed, but he was still asleep; Prussia thanked every god he knew for _that_.  
   
After a moment of catching his breath, Prussia leaned over and kissed Romano on the forehead, brushing a few stray hairs away from his eyes and gently tracing his half-open lips with light fingers. Then Prussia slowly slid out of bed and took his phone with him.  
   
A second call didn't come through until he was all the way in the freezing living room and by then he could pick it up with minimal noise. “What?” he snapped into the receiver without glancing at the caller ID. He just wanted to head this fucker off and get back in bed with his absolutely adorable boyfriend.  
   
“Oh, Gilbert?” Spain slurred across the line with what sounded like ten different crowded dive bars in the background. “I was calling _mi_ … _mi piqueno tomate_ , I thought….”  
   
Prussia snorted, moving closer to the front door and away from the main hallway just in case. “You should be fucking glad you didn’t, Antonio. You know he hates being woken up.” A murmured, unintelligible reply, and then some shuffling came down the line. Prussia frowned. “Antonio?”  
   
“Don’t worry, _mon ami_ , I’m taking him home,” came France’s much more sober voice. “He got a tiny bit wasted with _Angleterre_. Thankfully I showed up before it came to blows… of either kind--"  
   
“Ew!” Prussia whispered harshly, closing his eyes and shaking his head as if the thought would fall out if he shook hard enough. “I’m going back to bed. Please do _not_ let Antonio try to call Lovi again. I want to see him alive this weekend.”  
   
France chuckled good-naturedly. “Absolutely, Gilbert. See you!”  
   
Prussia ended the call, turning off his phone completely and making his way back through Romano’s chilly apartment (he didn’t know Rome could even get this fucking cold). Romano was still curled on his side just like Prussia left him, his nose scrunched adorably and all of their blankets swaddled around him.  
   
“You Mediterraneans really don’t like winter, huh?” Prussia whispered almost to himself. He got back in bed and adjusted himself so he was back under the sliver of covers Romano allowed him, arm around the smaller man with the back of Romano’s head tucked under his chin.  
   
To Prussia’s horror, Romano began to fuss, shifting and pressing his lips thin in frustration. “Mm, Gil?” he groaned questioningly, shoving his hips back into Prussia’s groin in a way that _would_ have him hot and bothered if it weren’t such an ungodly hour… ok, that last one had him a little interested.  
   
“Hush, little Italy, I’m right here.” Prussia stroked a smooth line from Romano’s waist to his knee in an attempt to keep him calm. All that lovely, warm, bare skin he was touching wasn’t likely to keep _Prussia_ calm, though, hour be damned. He tried to think about France naked to keep any inappropriate reactions at bay. “Go back to sleep.”  
   
Romano’s frown smoothed over. “Love you,” he mumbled, eyelashes fluttering as he settled back down. Prussia just about spontaneously combusted from how _fucking cute_ Romano was being, but he held it in with his iron will, kissing the top of Romano’s head.  
   
He even managed to lie like that for hours, dozing on and off and feeling Romano breathe and shift against him. Italy was in such a deep sleep that he didn’t react to the early morning sun slanting across his face, nor did he react to Prussia waking fully, kissing the tip of his nose (freezing and tinted red), and slipping out of bed once again.  
   
Prussia made sure to press his own pillow into Romano’s arms and wrap the blankets tightly around him before leaving the room. No matter how much Romano complained about how he smelled, Prussia could never get even close to self-conscious about it because of the way Romano gravitated toward everything Prussia had ever worn or touched to bury his face in.  
   
Romano did have to go to work that day, starting at eleven, and so he would probably be up and about in two or three hours. He was likely to be grumpy(-er than usual), so instead of working to aggravate him to get even cuter responses, the German thought about what sweet thing to buy for breakfast that would make Romano smile. Prussia started a pot of coffee for himself and bumbled around the apartment for a few minutes, straightening this here and writing down that they-need-more-of-that there.  
   
Romano walked into the kitchen so early and so quietly that Prussia almost jumped in surprise to see him. “Mornin’,” Prussia said brightly, looking up briefly from the handheld console that he started to play while he waited for his coffee to finish. The same console fell out of his hands and clattered to the kitchen table when he looked back at his boyfriend; Prussia could hardly care less that his character died at his inattention.  
   
The Italian was standing in Prussia’s dress shirt that he wore the day before, most likely plucked off of the top layer of clothes in the hamper. It was buttoned halfway and slipping off of Romano’s right shoulder, the ends of the shirt _just_ covering him to mid-thigh and the sleeves dropping way too long over his artistic hands. Prussia took a deep, shuddering breath, one hand coming up to grip his shirt over his heart.  
   
“You’re so cute,” he managed through gritted teeth, feeling his face go pink with something very different from embarrassment or coldness.  
   
Romano’s smooth brow furrowed slightly, but one corner of his mouth also tipped up in a smirk. He didn’t deign Prussia’s statement with a reply. Instead, he brushed passed him on the way to his own, personal coffee machine (that Prussia could not get to cooperate with him no matter how he begged), going through the motions of making espresso.  
   
“It’s kinda early, isn’t it?” Prussia continued, avidly watching Romano stand on the tips of his toes as he rooted around in his cabinets for his favorite mug. “You don’t have to be up for a while….”  
   
A clatter of silverware that Prussia knew he was going to have to reorganize later didn’t even faze him. “You’re always up, bastard,” Romano replied affectionately. “I figured I’d keep your stupid, early-waking ass company.”  
   
Prussia felt himself nod. “I was going to pick up some breakfast, y’know… bring back a pastry or… or something.” He covered his mouth with one hand and crossed the other arm over his chest; it felt like his entire body was on fire. Romano was holding their largest mug in his comparatively small hands, pouring chocolate powder into it and sneezing lightly when some fluffed back into his face. It was a vision straight out of Prussia's fantasies.  
   
“I want to come with you.” Romano tilted his head, bright golden eyes wide and shining. “When’s the last time I held your hand in public, ah? Unless you’re trying to fucking hide me away or something, you bastard?”

"No, no, of course not!" Prussia rocked slightly on his chair's legs. "Dress warm."

"Oh, I figured _you_ could keep me warm." Romano set his mug down and practically sauntered over to Prussia, standing in front of him and tugging on his shirt. "You always talk about kissing me in public so I can stop getting nervous… maybe if I blush enough I'll be alright."

No. No, no, no. Prussia wrapped his arms around Romano's waist, pulling him close and burying his face in the Italian's soft stomach. "You're _so_ cute, Lovino!" Then the reality of the situation caught up to him and he pulled back a little, frowning curiously. "Wait, you didn't even insult me once in that last sentence. Is something wrong?"

Romano's small smile flickered. "No," he muttered, biting at his lower lip and avoiding Prussia's gaze in that adorable way of his that meant he was definitely lying. "You want to come shower with me, idiot?"

"No. I mean, yes, of course! But I want you to tell me what's wrong." Prussia squeezed around Romano's waist again. "Not that I don't love you being cute as shit."

Romano pulled away and started to mess with his cup and espresso machine again, mixing the coffee and chocolate and a generous splash of milk. "Get undressed," he ordered, taking a sip of his drink; his thin, tan fingers splayed against the white cup, clenching nervously.

Prussia's eyes narrowed. Maybe a year ago, he would have let suspicious behavior like this go. Romano was secretive by nature, and would cry or yell, or both, if pushed to reveal those secrets. Seeing him so cagey, though, made Prussia too curious for his own good.

"Was it something that happened at work?" he asked, standing up and walking across the wooden floor. Romano had to tilt his head back a little to meet his eyes when they were standing toe-to-toe.

"Fuck off," Romano grumbled, breaking eye contact and taking another drink of coffee.

Strike off work. "Something one of the other nations said?" Prussia continued to press.

Romano just rolled his eyes. Strike that too.

Prussia lifted his hand, using it to gently lift Romano's chin. "Something that I said?" he asked softly and leaned forward to press their lips together.

Romano turned his head, avoiding the kiss.

A beat of silence, and then Prussia blinked, dropping his hand. "Oh." His heart stuttered wildly but he still mustered a self-confident smirk. "Remember all that shit Antonio told us about communication? You wanna let me know what I did or…?"

"It's me. Not you." Romano pulled the shirt tighter around his shoulders with his free hand and placed his mug on the counter behind him. Something in his purposefully innocent expression faded into exhaustion. "All that 'cute' shit."

Prussia tilted his head, confused. Romano had never seemed quite so down in front of him--again, he was known to cry and scream when he was upset, not this quiet defeat. "I thought you liked it when I called you cute," Prussia muttered. Something in him wanted to get pissed off that Romano didn't accept his compliments, but a larger part told him to hear Romano out.

Plush lips pressed into a thin line. "Fine," Romano said, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. "You want me to communicate? Here's your fucking communication." This time the flash in his eyes was all anger. "I'm tired of this. I can't be your 'adorable little Italy' because I'm not my brother. I refuse to be a-- a fucking substitute for him anymore." 

Tears began rolling down his cheeks and his voice wavered but he pressed on while Prussia could only stand in shocked silence. "I'm so _fucking_ tired of pretending to mean something to you. I know I'm worthless, I don't need you to compare me to him every fucking second of my life, I--"

"Lovino, stop!" Prussia insisted, grabbing Romano's hands which had started to gesture wildly the more emotional he got. "Where did you get that idea? You think I like _Feliciano_?"

Romano tried to tug his hands away but gave up when Prussia didn't immediately release him. "You've always been obsessed with him," he sobbed, pressing his forehead against Prussia's chest, trying to get comfort from him at the same time he wanted to push him away. "You want me to be like him."

"Lovino, that's not true at all! I want you to be like you, and no one else!" Romano's sobs only got louder and Prussia felt his heart crack in two. "Please, Lovi, don't think like that anymore. Why would the awesome me ever settle for less than the best?" Was this the price Prussia had to pay for accidentally waking Romano up so early?

"Don't say things like that unless you mean them." Romano succeeded in freeing one hand but just used it to wipe his face with Prussia's sleeve. "You would hate me if I didn't act cute."

Prussia nodded to himself, pretty confident he knew what the problem was. "You were being _extra_ fucking cute this morning, Lovi. But that doesn't mean I don't think you… yelling at me because I messed with your pasta sauce, or getting frustrated when you put sheets on the bed, or doing _anything else_ isn't also cute!"

Romano glanced up from under his eyelashes. "Really?" he mumbled.

"Really. Remember the first time you played Call of Duty with me?" Romano had been surprisingly good at the game for never having played it before, taking Prussia out whenever he was in line of sight but sometimes dying from sniper kills or random grenades. "Every time I killed you, you told me all the ways I could 'fuck off and die.'" Prussia recounted the memory with fondness but Romano just turned an embarrassed shade of pink and ducked his head. "We had only been dating for like, two months, but that was the cutest fucking thing I had ever seen."

"Me insulting you?" Romano asked in a small voice.

"Yes, you insulting me. Not because of the insults, but because you're _you_."

Romano stayed quiet for a while, and Prussia released his grip around his wrist to instead lace their fingers together, giving them an affectionate squeeze. "You don't like my stupid little brother?"

Prussia shook his head. "He's a friend, sure. But you're my little Italy."

Romano elbowed him in the hip, but it was much lighter than it could have been and hardly threw Prussia off balance. "Shut up, bastard." He stepped back and tugged on their joined hands. His eyes were rimmed red but he thankfully wasn't crying anymore. "Shower. Now."

Solving this particular misunderstanding would probably take a lot more of that "communication" Spain preached about, but Prussia figured he was at least partly forgiven. Maybe putting Romano back to bed for another hour's sleep would earn him even more. If not, Prussia had a lot more sappy compliments that he had been holding back up until that point that he was itching to use.


End file.
